by E A Wicklund
Watching Stillwell’s maneuvers in his tactical display, Broughton saw the APC’s area denial laser fired on automatic, catching a glancing blow.
“Dammit. He winged me,” Stillwell reported.
“You hurt bad?” Broughton asked, scanning the error codes on Stillwell’s craft in his display.
“Won’t be dancing no ballet. Lost fine controls. Hang on, giving them some back.”
Stillwell roared back into the fight, guns howling. His strafing attack finally paid dividends and the APC’s defensive laser blew apart in a shower of sparks. Without that laser, it no longer had a close-in weapons defense. Broughton smiled. The two veterans had flown together for years and performed their job to perfection. “Time for Act II, ma’am,” he said to Candless. “That APC is all yours.”.
***
“Kill it, Trang,” said Candless.
With the full attention of the APC on the nimble DaggerSwifts, the slower, but heavily-armed, assault shuttle slipped back into the fight and locked on target.
The Crusher’s rotary weapons bay spun and dropped an AGM-338 Atlatl. The air-to-ground missile fired its engines and soon streaked away from the shuttle, accelerating past Mach 13.
“They switched to proximity fuses,” reported Broughton. “Taking shrapnel damage. Nothin’ major but ma’am? Y’all ready to change partners?”
“On it. Putting this fecker to bed.”
Candless figured the crew of the APC saw the Atlatl separating from the shuttle on their scopes—but way too late. She watched the armored vehicle slew hard, turning to evade the Atlatl. They had fought well, but the Potatoes knew ground attack warfare as well as anyone in human space. Mud-movers elite, they knew how to overwhelm their enemies.
The Major’s missile shot, with time to accelerate up to Mach 18, struck the APC like the fist of a god. It didn’t have a warhead. It didn’t need one. The energy it delivered would’ve knocked a freight train off its tracks. A flash of blinding light erupted from the collision like an angry sun razing the battlefield. The hull of the car disintegrated into flaming pieces as small as pebbles.
Wasting no further time prosecuting the battle, Candless prepared the next phase of their attack. “Alright DaggerSwifts, I’ve located Captain McCray and company. I’ve marked their position on your targeting scanners in red. Green areas mark locations for happy shooting at the bad guys.”
“They’re mighty close together, Maj,” said Broughton. “You sure you’ve located the Captain?”
“Positive. He’s the only one down there with space caterpillars attacking his face.”
“Copy that,” Broughton said with a chuckle. “Lining up on the cocktail party now.”
***
Before Candless’s attack, McCray and the center group maintained concentrated fire from the bottom of U-shaped killing field. They fired and moved, moved and fired, never remaining in one place for long. Weapons chattered constantly. The screams of dying Xerxes filled the air as bodies piled up around the crashed vehicles. They were still forming up their attack, but paying the price while they did so.
The cover provided to the Xerxes by the burning cars was imperfect. McCray and the others could see men in the distance through the gaps and blasted anything moving. The Captain fired a short burst and watched his target’s legs fly away from the torso. He kept firing and taking down targets until they learned to avoid the gap. Then, like the others in the three groups, he moved until he found another gap the Xerxes weren’t avoiding.
The fact that the left and right groups of Castellano’s marines had very different fields of fire complicated things for the Xerxes. No matter where the mercenaries hid, the defenders always found someone to shoot at.
“Short bursts, people,” called Castellano above the roar of weapons.“ You can do this. Castellano’s Cretins always find a way!”
The marines nearby who could hear him above the din, shouted, “Ooh Rah!” as one.
Aja’s Merkel boomed over and over, the heavy rounds bursting mercenaries into scarlet clouds of blood with every hit.
“The APC is moving!” called Aziz. “Hell, it’s shooting missiles. Who at? It ain’t us.”
McCray grinned. If that APC was engaging aircraft with missiles that surely meant Springbok had sent in the cavalry. Down on the ground it would be hard to realize it, but a battle raged overhead too fast to see easily. “That means help is on the way,” he called. “We just gotta hold on a little longer.”
“Well I wish they’d get down here quick,” said Castellano. He shouted to the men nearby. “Get ready, Cretins. That APC is coming up to lead the attack.”
McCray stepped beside the marine captain. “How big of a threat is that?”
“Big trouble. They’ve got thirty-seven millimeter rounds that pass redoubts first before exploding right over anyone hiding in cover. The shrapnel kills any soft target that otherwise was safe.”
“Can we stop that thing?”
“Not with these unless…hey, Coopersmith. Can you hit the fire control radar on that APC?”
Aja was already aiming. “On it now. Here goes.” The Merkel boomed.
All watched in shock as a massive fireball ripped the vehicle to pieces. Bits of metal, bodies, and dirt showered across them and peppered the lake like a torrent of rain.
The marines stopped firing and stared at the small mushroom cloud in shock.
“Feck me!” said Castellano. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Coopersmith. Are you firing nuclear rounds?”
Aja glared at him like he was stupid. “Seriously?” She grabbed at her chest. “Oh hang on… Nope. All my nuclear fecking bullets are still here in my damned bra.”
Aziz stage-whispered to Matuczak. “See? Told you that super-spy has nuclear tits.”
“Ha.” McCray grinned. “You got your wish, Jesus. Calvary is here.”
As McCray pointed across the battlefield, a very distinctive line of fire erupted low over the killing ground, followed by a mountain of earth, grass, and Xerxes heaved up forty meters into the air by thousands of hypersonic strikes. McCray recognized hits by AGM-227 Mjolnir cluster weapons. He’d seen them in use many times during the Thallighari war, but always from space. Seen from the ground, the weapons were far more awe inspiring.
Milliseconds before they reached the surface, the Mjolnirs splintered their own airframes and fired the bits forward like a shotgun blast. At the shallow angle in which they hit, lethal shrapnel spread across nearly two hundred yards. The fragments, accelerated to even faster Mach 20, obliterated anything they hit. Three hundred Xerxes died in a blink.
Massive columns of flying, supersonic dirt rose into the air, framing McCray’s upraised fist. The DaggerSwifts followed the weapons, engines growling like giant, screaming bees, as they hurtled in low over the battlefield. They had disengaged their Nightjar panels, so their pale grey hulls were easily visible. The stylized flaming potato in dark grey marked the port side of their broad hulls. McCray grinned as he watched them roll to present their markings to friendlies. He caught this with a feeling of glee as they screamed past and into the horizon in under two seconds. Not only was his ship still intact, but they were pulling him out of this hellhole.
McCray turned back to the field. The surviving Xerxes milled around, some stunned, others deafened. Some just stood in shock, unable to process the titanic forces unleashed all around them. The obvious combat veterans in their ranks rushed to cover anywhere they could find it, even if it was a portion of a former comrade’s body.
The Xerxes no longer fired on McCray’s position, scrambling for cover instead. A fortunate thing since he watched the battle without cover, never evading, too fascinated to move. He knew what would come next and DaggerSwift strafing passes were something he’d only ever seen from orbit. The Madkhali armed forces never participated in the Thallighari war and he felt a scrap of pity for the mercenaries who didn’t realize how horrific warfare had evolved in the crucible of that battle.
The DaggerSwif
ts returned, subsonic now, but from the ground pounder’s view, still at a blistering five hundred knots speed. Their guns blazed and McCray watched, mesmerized by the hell he knew the craft unleashed.
Each opened fire with a pair of 11mm, 4-barrelled gatling guns. Both weapons firing at the rate of 6,800 rounds per minute, and each round screamed onto the battlefield at Mach 12. These self-frangible “grapeshot” rounds specialized in ripping apart infantry units.
Much like the Mjolnir, the grapeshot rounds splintered into jagged pieces the size of pellets. They were very small, but when entering the human body at over 8,500 miles per hour, it hardly made any difference. Human heads exploded like overripe tomatoes. Torsos disappeared into a reddish mist. The DaggerSwifts swept across the battlefield on strafing runs again and again, slaying forty of the Xerxes with every lethal pass.
Despite devastating losses, several hundred Xerxes still surged forward, heedless of the strafing passes decimating their ranks.
McCray couldn’t believe that the battle wasn’t over right then and there. He huddled close to cover and said to Castellano, “What’s wrong with those idiots? Why aren’t they surrendering? The bloodshed can stop anytime.”
“There’s a lot of fanatics over there,” said Castellano. “For them, death is an honor. They’ll never quit. The others, who knows? They’ve never given quarter to anyone else, so maybe they never think about it.”
But even as the two wondered at the Xerxes inexplicable behavior, a small group of mercenaries kneeling in the rivers of blood, raised their hands, begging for mercy. Others followed swiftly until the remaining survivors had thrown down their weapons and gave up.The DaggerSwifts broke off their attack and hovered above them on repellers, guardian knights of exotic carbon, victorious over Madkhal’s most terrifying men.
The battle was over.
McCray turned to Aja beside him. This extraordinary woman had sought him out when he faced inevitable death, and stood by his side. She had fought her way past some of humanity’s most notorious killers to stand between him and harm. He saw in her a woman of contradictions. Her hair lay plastered across her face in sweaty strands. Red mud streaked her skin and stained her clothes, but he couldn’t imagine a more beautiful woman in all the universe.
“I love you, Aja,” he said.
Aja shook her head as if struggling with his words. “I know and I love you too. But I’m still pissed, McCray. You’re a shithead sometimes, you know that?”
McCray bristled for a moment, unaccustomed to being talked to that way. Then he sagged, acknowledging defeat. “I know.”
“I’m a killer, McCray. You’ve got to deal with that, and I’m no play tool for Quartermain either, no matter what you think.” Her voice broke for a moment. “I trusted you. Do you know how hard that is? Why can’t you trust me, too?”
“I do trust you, Aja,” said McCray. “I just had to grow up a little to see it.” He reached for her, but she stepped back.
“Not now, McCray. I’ve got a job to do and I need to finish it. I told you we’d talk later and I meant it.”
McCray was so fixated on Aja, he only vaguely heard the warning shout from Castellano.
“Some made it through,” Castellano snapped. “C’mon, you lovers. Light ’em up!”
A small group of the more fanatical Xerxes had slipped past the abattoir of the field and charged across the short distance to McCray and the marines.
Everyone rushed to take up firing positions. But before McCray could shoot, he saw heavy lasers sparkling through the drifting haze. The intensely powerful beams seared through the charging Xerxes, boiling their blood where it sliced through the hapless men. Clouds of reddish superheated steam rose from the flying body parts and joined the billowing black clouds of battle.
McCray whirled and saw it twenty yards behind him. It fired its heavy laser cannons one last time, cutting some last improbable survivors in twain. The marine assault shuttle “Fightin’ Franny” hovered there on its dark paddles, the words “ESS Springbok” clearly written on her prow.
“Hey, Captain,” radioed Major Annette Candless, finally in communication range of his Iris system. McCray could almost hear her grinning. “Ready to go home?”
Chapter 19
The Planetary Force arrived about an hour later, their interceptors streaking across the sky and securing the airspace above. Ground attack shuttles buzzed nearby, securing the airspace above the scene. Below, silver and grey PF transport shuttles dotted the battleground. Around them, the once pristine grassy field look like it had been plowed by a drunk and angry god.
Typical, thought McCray. The PF usually arrived to secure a battlefield, strutting around for the cameras and looking victorious, long after the Navy and Marines had pacified the dangerous target.
At least the bird Colonel, approaching them from latest shuttle, had the common decency to look apologetic for the PF arriving so late when he walked up to Major Candless. He returned her salute and joined McCray and Aja as they stood on a hillock overlooking the bloody battlefield. He offered no salute to McCray, since any description would have portrayed him as a merchant captain, but he did give a respectful nod. He said to Candless, “Colonel Bertram, Vickers Base CO. I’m sorry that you were handled rather abruptly by our comms operator, Major. He was following standard protocols, but he could’ve handled that better.”
“That’s all right, Colonel. I’m just happy we got Captain McCray back.”
“Me too.” Bertram turned to McCray. “Your First Mate, Zahn, is top notch. His information packet was surprisingly complete. It must be nice for a civilian ship to have a Black Ship escorting her. Luckily, they had a Marine contingent available to pull you out of this mess.”
“We certainly are,” said McCray, giving Candless a nod and wink. Zahn was no First Mate, that was a civilian title, but it was an excellent attention to detail to use it and guard the ship’s cover story. Even better, McCray was pleased that the escort explanation fit perfectly while Springbok operated under near-invisible space black conditions. It was a brilliant invention. With quick thinking like that, the man would make a fine captain someday.
“It’s still a shock to realize Madkhali mercenaries, the infamous Xerxes Regiment no less, were operating on Elysium soil,” continued Bertram. “Once we analyzed the data, we couldn’t get out here fast enough.”
McCray grinned diplomatically. Though not fast enough to join the battle, Flyboy. Still smiling, he said, “We’re happy to see you here, Colonel. We appreciate the assist.” He looked to where the surviving Xerxes boarded waiting shuttles with their PF police escorts. Some of them looked a bit wobbly, and medical personnel held them steady. Most were wounded, but others looked to be in shock.
“Were there many Xerxes left?” McCray asked.
Bertram shook his head. “The Marines worked them over pretty hard. They didn’t have any fight left in them. We’ve found only about fifty-three left alive. A lot of them show signs of Combat Stress Reaction. One man just sat there slapping his head over and over. Another one can’t walk. He just sits on the ground, shaking.”
“Being on the business end of a marine strike could mess up anyone’s day,” Candless said.
“So I see.The Madkhalis have got a lot of gall sending the Xerxes here. That’s just going to make a sticky diplomatic situation worse.”
“What is the diplomatic situation looking like, sir?” said Aja.
Bertram gave her a guarded look. “I’m sorry, miss. What news service are you with?”
McCray suppressed a little smile.
Aja shook the officer’s hand with a sweet smile. “Angela Downey, Civilian Contractor.”
Bertram raised an eyebrow. In the military, a civilian contractor was generally a euphemism for mercenary or spy.
“She’s been fully briefed, Colonel,” said McCray, amused by the Colonel’s reaction to Aja. The mud streaked across her face and hair, and the blood splattered across her shirt hardly belonged to a reporter.
He decided to run with her appearance and build upon Zahn’s improvised cover story. “A liaison from our Black Ship escort. I expect her clearances are higher than yours.”
“Very well, Miz Downey. It’s not looking good. You folks did right taking out the Xerxes, but it’s not looking that way in the news. All the gunfire and explosions attracted a lot of attention, and now the holovids are appearing all over the net.”
“Well, then they saw us fighting for our lives,” said McCray.
“And all the murdered people in Braunfels,” added Aja.
Bertam shook his head. “According to the holos, the Braunfels Massacre was committed by Elysium Marines.”
“Bullshit,” growled McCray.
“You know that and I know that. But it doesn’t look that way on the nets. And then Majinn News makes the battle here looks like a bunch of civilian Madkhalis under attack by Elysium strike shuttles.”
“They were all armed and shooting!”
“I know that, but the way Majinn is spinning this, they were a bunch of Madkhalis defending their farms.”
McCray spat on the ground. “Well, gather up your own footage. There’s guns all over the damned battlefield.” He pointed to the distant patrolling Ramjacks. “And where are the news shuttles? Surely, they got something. Send that off to Schubert News!” McCray felt the beginnings of a headache. The civilian press could be a major pain in the ass, always uncovering some apparent government abuse, but just when he needed them to do their usual investigative work, Schubert News Service disappeared. SNS operated aircraft at all times, looking for stories. What could possibly trump this?
Bertram held his hands up in a helpless gesture. “Huralon Governor’s office says no, emphatically so. They say confirmation of a Madkhali landing would cause a dangerous panic.”